


All That Bad (For Me)

by BremenBunny



Series: Steve Rogers is a lot of things, least of which a national icon [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Gladiator (2000), Iron Man (Movies), The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gladiator, Basically the movie Gladiator with the Avengers, Misunderstandings, Multi, Obadiah Stane is a jackass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 17:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BremenBunny/pseuds/BremenBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avengers/Gladiator crossover.  Howard Stark, emperor of Rome, wishes to hand over the throne to his general instead of his perfectly capable son, Anthony.  Anthony, however, has other plans.  At the behest of his adviser, he murders his father and forces the general, Steven Rogers, into slavery.  There, the general is bought by Nick Fury to fight as a gladiator.  Having nothing to lose, he proves deadly in the field of battle and eventually faces off with the emperor's son himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched Gladiator once, a long time ago, and recently rewatched tiny bits and pieces of it on FX. I hope I'm doing this right. I can't believe how similar the movie is to the Avengers, though. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you probably will. Soon. I don't know. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated!
> 
> Edit: I've decided to tweak the fic a bit by adding a more thorough beginning.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! [anconeus.tumblr.com](http://anconeus.tumblr.com)

“How long has he been gone?” 

“A few hours.”

In the distance, a horse rode towards them with a body limply bouncing on the saddle.  When the horse cleared the fog, the men could see the body had no head.

“It appears Howlett’s attempts at diplomacy have failed.”  General James Barnes scoffed, cringing when the man’s head was thrown towards them.

“We shall have to fight, then.”  General Steven Rogers grimly turned his sword in his hand, motioning for his troops to get ready. 

“People should know when they’re conquered.”  Barnes huffed under his breath, barely audible over the raucous shouts of the Germans.  Rogers simply rose, moving to mount his horse and join the cavalry.  “On my signal, fire.”  He nodded to his fellow general, riding off around the perimeter of the battlefield.

“Archers!”  Barnes shouted, prompting a domino effect of succinct shouts to ignite their arrows.  “Draw!”  The sound of bowstrings being drawn taut surrounded the men.  He saw Steven wave his sword in a controlled pattern and shouted the command.

“Fire!”  All at once, hundreds of arrows volleyed through the air and into enemy lines.  At the same time, catapults flung vats of flaming oil in the same trajectory, the ammunition bursting into flames at impact.

The Germans charged their way forward, straight into the thick line of waiting Roman warriors.  Suddenly, the cavalry charged in, completing a pincer attack-type affect.  The Germans were hemmed in at both sides, just waiting to be destroyed.  Steven led the riders, shouting, “Hold the line!  Stay with me!”  and began to swing his swords in expert strokes, killing any who dared get in his way.

Abruptly, he was flung from his saddle as a dying German slashed at his steed’s legs, tumbling ungracefully to the ground moistened with the beginnings of a snowstorm. 

Several enemies at once assaulted him as he laid prone, forcing Steven to grab the sharp end of his sword as he blocked a brutal strike from one of the larger soldiers.  He screamed silently as he felt the blade bite into the soft flesh of his hand and the warm blood trickle from the wound.

Using all of his strength, he swung at the attacker’s legs, using the opportunity to get up quickly and strike.  The downed man howled as he fell to the dirt, leaving Steven to assist his comrades elsewhere.

The general himself gave out a cry when he felt his back hit something, raising his weapon to attack.

However, it had been General Barnes he had run into.  Upon this realization, Steven smiled at his friend, quickly giving him a fond, private smile.  They separated, Barnes latching onto a particularly large brute and Steven going after a man engulfed by flames, who nevertheless sounded a battle cry while readying an attack.

Unfortunately for the assailant, he was cut down as he stood by a passing rider, his still flaming body making a dull _thud_ on the ground.

There was nothing but dead bodies surrounding the blonde general, with the occasional friendly soldier entering his vision to finish off a downed enemy.  When the fighting finally quelled, Steven cried out, “It is Rome’s victory!”  The remaining soldiers joined in, screaming jovially.

Approaching the dwindling battle was an ornate, garish carriage, holding the precious cargo of Prince Anthony Stark and Princess Virginia Potts, along with some of their attendants.

“Do you think he’s really dying this time?”  Anthony mused, sitting up.  Virginia scoffed, examining a bouquet of dying flowers.  “He’s been dying for ten years, Anthony.”

“If he weren’t really dying, he wouldn’t have called us.”

“Maybe he just misses you.”

“And the senators?  He wouldn’t have called for them if he weren’t going to – “

“Shush, Anthony.  I can practically hear the gears turning in your head.”

The younger Stark sidled up next to his wife, grabbing her hand.  “He’s going to announce it.  In two days’ time, I’ll be Emperor.”  His eyes glazed over slightly as he continued.  “The first day I rule, I’ll give him a show worthy of royalty.”

Virginia smiled up at her husband.  “The first thing I shall do,” she sighed, “is take a bath.”

Anthony rose as the carriage slowed, mounting a horse to join his father.  “Give me a kiss?”  He grinned at Virginia, who promptly blew him one.

He arrived at the battlefront just as Steven was leading his men in a victory cry, Emperor Howard Stark by his side.  “Have I missed the battle?”  He asked, halting his steed.

“You have missed the war.”  Anthony didn’t miss the note of disappointment so clearly directed at him as he brought his father in for a hug.  “I must leave you, now.”  The old man strode off on his own, leaving Anthony and Steven to face off.

“You have won the battle, hmm?  You, who are as close to me as my brother, have achieved something so great.”  Anthony embraced the general as well, though with unconvincing affection.

They walked together to the tent where the celebration was to be held.  The general excused himself to wash his blood-soaked hands.  He spotted Barnes and abandoned his attempts at cleaning up, patting his friend solidly on the back.  “Still alive, eh?”

The darker haired general laughed, bringing Steven into a hug.  “The devil has a strange sense of humor.” 

In a partitioned-off tent, Howard faced his son’s wife solemnly.  “My daughter.”

“You will never be family to me.”  The princess sneered, crossing her arms.

“Let us pretend for a moment that you can stand me and that I am a good father.”  The emperor stood eye-to-eye with her, placing his hands on her shoulders.  “Anthony will need your support now more than ever.”

“Why, _father_?”

“He will not, _cannot_ be emperor.  You must get him through these tough times.”

Begrudgingly, Virginia nodded.  “I know by now you will never be the father Anthony deserved.  I shall do as you ask.”  With those reassuring words, Howard left the tent to face his son.

“Father?  Why did you send for me?”

To his credit, the decrepit old man came right out with it.  “You are not to succeed me.”

The prince whipped his head around, jaw slack with shock.  “Then who?  What heathen have you chosen to replace me with?”

“General Rogers.”  Anthony’s anger grew until he could not stand it any longer.  “Now I understand.  You never loved me as a son.  You never loved me at all, even when I did everything I could to please you, to make you proud!”  He turned on his heel with rage.

Obadiah, one of the emperor’s council, stood to speak to the man.  “Howa – sire, how cruel of you to denounce your own son!”  The Emperor frowned.  “Obadiah.  You know he was unfit to rule.”

“Still, that was uncalled for.  He loved you with all his heart...”  The man approached somewhat menacingly, hands raised on either side of his head.

“...But you never loved him, did you?”  All of a sudden, his hands were around the emperor’s neck, gripping tight.  “And now you never will.”  A few seconds passed, filled with the sounds of Howard gasping for air.

Stark breathed his last, falling serenely onto his bed.  The adviser smirked, brushing his hands together after a job well done.  “I guess the _lesser_ Stark will have to do for now.”  

* * *

 "No!  NO!!"

Steven cried out as he was held back by several armed guards, one of whom was, to his shock and horror, General Barnes.  Several more restrained his wife, Margaret, as well as his son, Peter.  In front of them, the emperor's son stood, nodding morosely to his adviser as if he weren't about to kill an entire family.  The guards hauled out Steven's wife and son, leaving the dejected man to face off with the royalty on his own.  

Anthony smirked.  "Such a pity, Steven, to have to see a pretty face like yours rot."

Steven lashed out.  "Why?  Why must you do this?  What have I done to anger you so?"  He struggled to escape the tight grip the guards held on his arms, but to no avail.  Nevertheless, he struggled even harder when Anthony leaned in close.  

He clenched his fists.  "You don't even know, do you?  Listen carefully, maggot,"  The prince grabbed the back of Steven's neck, bringing them so close together the general could feel Anthony's warm breath ghost over his cheeks.  Their eyes locked and Steven stopped struggling but remained tense.  

"Any friend of my father's..."  Anthony brought his lips right next to Steven's ear, hand now gripping painfully at golden strands of hair,and spat out, "is no friend of mine."  He pulled even harder, so hard that Steven's head whipped back.  The general struggled to breathe, letting his head fall limply forward when Anthony finally released him.

"Enjoy your time with those fellow slaves of yours, Rogers,"  Anthony called lazily over his shoulder as he sauntered away.  "And try not to think too much about your family.  Wishful thinking surely won't save them."  Steven tried one last time to break the hold the guards had on him, lunging forward at the laughter reverberating through the hall.

He was not strong enough.  The guards dragged him away, ignoring his cries of indignation.  He was mounted on a horse behind one of them and they rode off into the deepest part of the woods.

Barnes dismounted, pulling Steven off the saddle soon after.  He could see the ground, littered with the bones of past assassinations, and the branches of the trees, decaying bodies still dangling from above.  The general tried not to flinch when he was pushed down onto his knees, hitting the ground hard.  

"I'm sorry, friend."  Barnes unsheathed his sword solemnly, positioning the weapon over his friend's head.  Steven lowered his head, but said, "Please, at least give me a soldier's death.  A clean one."  The sword was lowered and Barnes nodded, moving behind Steven.

"Truely, I hope you can forgive me in heaven."

"No.  It is I who should apologize, James."

Barnes cocked his head in confusion.  "For what?"

"For this."  The blonde general rose up suddenly, sending Barnes reeling backwards, unconscious.  He grabbed the sword, knocking out the guard in front of him with the hilt.  The soldiers still on their horses turned their attention to the commotion, one of them leaping off of his mount to fight Steven.  The general quickly dodged the attack and kicked out, bringing the man down on his face.

The last guard, who was drinking liquor out of a canteen, threw the container on the ground and turned his horse around.  His sword swung wildly at his side, aimed at Steven, who was ready for the attack.  He sidestepped, avoiding most of the swing, but was still caught by the tip of the blade.  Laboriously, he himself swung his sword, throwing the guard off his saddle and onto the ground, lifeless.

He ran.  He ran for miles, blood streaming from between his fingertips.  Finally, when he could run no more, and with each step worsening the wound, Steven collapsed onto the dirt road with his hands still clutched at his blood-soaked side. 

* * *

 Steven awoke in rough sheets, with the feeling of dried blood all over his body.  Where was he?  He turned his head slowly from side to side, taking in his surroundings.  The place was dressed to a bare minimum, with dirt floors and beige tapestry hemming the room in.  

Cautiously, he rose into a sitting position, hands flying to his side when the burn of the stab wound returned.  He realized his side had been wrapped.  Who had done this?  Suddenly, a large man appeared in what seemed to be the entrance.  

"Ah, so you have awoken!"  His deep voice boomed throughout the room.  He clasped hands with Steven, hauling him roughly up to his feet.  "Hurry!  The auction is about to start."  Auction?  Steven had no choice but to be pulled along at the man's pace. 

Once they stumbled into the courtyard, he could see the crowd bustling, people milling around men hanging from support beams, trussed like turkeys.

"Where am I?" He asked.  "You're a slave now, son.  Found you collapsed on the side of the road, bleeding out.  You'd be dead if not for me."  The man slapped Steven's back heartily, his jovial attitude unfitting of his surroundings.  

"Am I to be tied up as well?"  Steven hesitantly asked, gesturing to one man in particular.  

"No, no, you'll just be shackled to a post.  Handsome faces like yours fetch good prices."  The man, or the slave trader, as he had made himself known, shook slightly with laughter as he put the restraints in place.

One by one, the buyers filed into the courtyard, eyeing the slaves hungrily.  One in particular, a man with an eyepatch, set his sights almost immediately on Steven.  The general could feel the intensity of the gaze even from several yards away.  It was no surprise when the slave trader came up to him, tugging on the chains.  "You've already been requested, boy.  My hunches are never wrong."

After a few quick words with the buyer, he was handed off in exchange for a bulging bag of silver.  Once he and the man with the eyepatch arrived at a simple-looking carriage, Steven decided to speak up.  

"Who are you?  What will I be used for?"

The man smiled grimly, making Steven wonder if he made that expression often.  

"My name is Nicholas Fury, General."

The blonde man jumped at the mention of his title.  "How - " He began, but was cut off.  "Let me finish.  You are to become a gladiator."  A silence hung between them, Steven making sure he wasn't interrupting again.  "How do you know who I am?  And why a gladiator?"

Nicholas shook his head.  "Suffice it to say I have people on the inside," He sighed before continuing.  "The emperor's son can be so petulant, sometimes.  He insisted on more warriors to entertain him and his subjects.  You know well how much he loves attention."  The man rolled his eyes (eye?), shaking his head again with exasperation.

"I suppose he's emperor, now," Steven said dejectedly, reluctantly remembering the death of his friend.  They rode the rest of the way in silence, slowly making their way through the large shadow of the colosseum.  Fury halted the horses, jumping out the side of the carriage. 

"Follow closely, General.  The arena is a maze.  It would do you good not to get lost in it."  The two of them entered the tunnels, the cool air washing over them refreshing in contrast to the overbearing heat outside.  

Steven hurriedly kept pace with Nicholas, occasionally looking out at the sunbaked arena through grated entrances.  They finally stopped in a room filled with partitions and cages.  "This is where you will be held before matches.  Next, I will show you where the weapons are held."

The tour went on for some time, ending with Nicholas leading Steven out onto the actual fighting grounds, showing him where the weapons would be held and, at times, the tigers would be released.  "I have shown you all you need to see, so you have no excuse of being 'overwhelmed' or some other idiotic reason to be killed."

Fury didn't give Steven any time to respond, turning on his heels and back into the tunnels.  They rode down the road, further away from the slave market.  "Where are we going now?"

"General, you ask far too many questions."  Fury humored Steven, though, and said, "We are to go to my school.  You will be taught the ins and outs of fighing in the colosseum and eventually will have to fight there to the death."  They arrived and Fury left Steven alone in the carriage without saying another word.  

"Ah, a new recruit!"  A dark man approached the carriage, holding out his hand to help Steven out.  "My name is Samuel Wilson.  I fear your time here will not be pleasant, but having company makes it a bit more bearable."  Wilson's face split into a wide smile, making Steven feel immediately less tense.

"I can imagine.  Steven Rogers, by the way."  Samuel nodded and shook his hand firmly, motioning for the blonde man to follow him inside.  

They were greeted by the noisy clanking of swords and shields clashing, followed by shouts of either pain or victory.  "Fury says we'll 'eventually' have to fight, but he's lying.  I had to the day after I arrived.  You will have to, as well."  Samuel patted Steven on the back solemnly, leading him to what seemed to be a mess hall. 

"You came just in time for dinner.  I doubt you'll have time to train, Rogers.  Get some sustenance and sleep.  I wish I could stay, but I'm up for a practice round.  We'll meet again, soon.  I'm sure of it."  Wilson led the general to the food line, then to an empty bench.  Waving, he ran off to god knows where, leaving Steven to eat by himself in silence.  

The feeling of fullness made him drowsy, prompting him to get up and stumble his way to what looked close enough to barracks, cots crammed into a tiny, box-shaped room.  Too tired to make sure it was the right room, he collapsed onto the nearest bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

* * *

He felt himself being shaken violently awake.  The general rose slowly, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes.  

"Steven!  There is no time to waste.  They are calling us to gather in the stadium."  Wilson helped Steven up, leading him to the meeting spot.  There, about 8 men stood at attention, backs stiff and eyes facing straight ahead.  Nicholas was walking among the students, barely playing any heed to the two men as they joined the others belatedly.  

"Men, we've trained hard for this day."  Wilson shot a knowing sideways glance at Steven, who returned the eye contact.  

"It may seem daunting, having to fight as a team.  No matter!  I know you all can do it."  Do what?  Steven barely knew any of these men, who would join him in a fight  _to the death._ Suddenly, he felt the cold clasp of shackles being forced onto his wrists, Fury eyeing the blond with an unreadable expression.  Suspicion?  Pity?  He couldn't tell.

When all the men were restrained, Fury opened the hatch of a large, caged holding carriage.  The men shuffled into the cramped space single-file, Steven the last man to go inside.  He felt like an ox being taken to slaughter, a situation which wasn't entirely different to the one he was in now.  

"See?  What did I tell you?"  Samuel suddenly chided the general from beside him, smiling slightly.  

"I was not so eager for you to be correct, but you did, Samuel.  Don't worry.  I'll lead you and the others to victory."  Steven's expression turned steely.  His friend looked at him quizzically, leaning forward with interest.  "And how do you plan on going about that?"

"Trust me," Steven laughed in an attempt to appear calm, but instead looked a bit hysterical.  "I've had experience."


	2. Are You Not Entertained?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and his new "friends" face off against a beast of an enemy, apparently one Anthony Stark himself had designed: a monstrous horde of scythed chariots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I plan to put out a chapter at least every month, but since school starts really, really soon that might not be possible. Thanks for dealing with me.

"Alright, men.  Get ready.  Even I don't know what Stark's cooked up this time."  Fury paced, not meeting any of the men's eyes. 

"What do you propose we do, then?"  Steven sighed, resigned.  Years of tactical experience did nothing for him here, where there were rules and an audience who determined their fate.

"Please the crowd.  If you win the audience, you win the battle."  Fury nodded at the general, attention now completely on him.  "I trust that you have an idea of what to do."  With that, he left in a flurry of dust.

Steven genuinely had no idea what he was supposed to do.  Time had no mercy for the gladiators, and in a short period of time they were lined up behind the gate to the arena.  Samuel came up to his side, shifting his weight from foot to foot.  "So do you have an idea?"

The general thought for a moment, then nodded.  He would do what he did best: lead.  "Everyone stay together.  By isolating ourselves we make it easier for the enemy to take us down one by one.  I'll have a better idea of what to do when I know for sure what we're fighting against."  Although his voice was clear and steady, he couldn't help but feel a bit of anxiety.  The weight of the shield on his arm was all wrong; it was nothing like his personal one.  At least he had a shield.  

Fury came out from nowhere and handed him a handsome-looking helmet that obscured his features but not his vision.  "The time has come.  Now, die with honor!"  The man stood to the side as he watched the gladiators file past him, streaming out from the cool confines of the underground and into the sweltering heat of the outdoors.

The men were all armed with long, flimsy spears and rectangular swords and wore chainmail over their tunics.  It was clear most of them had not paid complete attention to Steven when they paced silently on the outskirts of the arena.  All of a sudden, a loud fanfare rose from the stands, announcing Caesar Anthony Stark's arrival.  

"Caesar!  Caesar!  Caesar!"  The crowd roared; it was almost too much for Steven, who was still grieving over his old friend's death.  Everyone around him but himself raised their spears and shouted, "We who are about to die salute you!"  An old, overdressed man addressed the Colosseum pompously.  It was enough to make Steven want to puke.  

Instead he focused his gaze on Anthony, who looked smug and comfortable in his large throne of his, dressed to the nines with Virginia on his arm.  The old man's words did not reach him until he addressed the gladiators as the "Howling Commandos".  A strange name to his ears, but the crowd ate it up, crying for blood and gore. 

"Remember what I said, men,"  the blonde general said now that the gladiators had migrated to the center of the arena.  "We have a better chance of survival if we stick together."  They were brought out of their strategizing as the same old man announced the name of their opponents: "The Hellfire Club".

Horses reared and stampeded out of their cages, dragging large chariots of some kind behind them.  The chariots seemed to have long appendages in the middle of their wheels that gleamed in the sunlight.  Blades, then.  

Mass confusion ensued as even more chariots entered the arena, threatening to separate the gladiators' formation.  "Stick together!"  Steve shouted as loud as he could.  "Stay close!"  He could feel himself growing more and more frantic as men dropped left and right.  

Finally, they amassed into a tight circle, shields held above them.  Even arrows were not able to penetrate their defenses for the time being.  The chariots began to aggressively approach their circle, scythes scratching against the surface of their collective shields.  "Hold!  As one!"  Steven yelled from the center of the circle.  

Another chariot came from the same direction.  "Hold!  Hold..."  He waited for the very perfect moment, then screamed, "Diverge!"  All at once several men from one side of the circle rose up to knock the heavy chariot off its wheels and onto its side.  

Two of their larger men quickly attacked the vulnerable chariot riders, wasting no time in killing them then returning to the formation.  One of them was too slow, however, and took and arrow through the calf.  In turn, Steven threw a spear which drove straight though into the driver of one of the chariots.  He fell to the ground and the other occupant, an archer, had to abandon his bow to steer the wayward horses.

He was unable to grab the reigns in time and was sliced in half by another one of the chariots' scythe.  Samuel hurriedly ran up to the injured gladiator and dragged him to the center of the formation.  

Steven watched in awe as everything went to hell; chariots had crashed into the starting gates, no doubt killing the guards behind them.  Another slid into the wall, crushing its riders.  "Quickly!  Unlatch the horses!"  He and several other men ran to the destroyed chariot, Steven mounting the less-damaged horse.  He grabbed a javelin from one of the fallen and rode behind yet another scythed chariot, poising himself to make the perfect throw. 

Meanwhile, the men who had released the horse began to set up a barrier the horse but not the chariot could cross, a low beam made up of two halves of a seat.

Steven made his shot and rode ahead of the enemy.  His horse easily cleared the barrier, as did the other man's, but the chariot he was in could not jump and so was brought crashing to the ground.

Now there were only two chariots left, and Stark was reduced to mocking Steven's successful attempts.  The emperor writhed in his seat, cursing the general inwardly.

"Single columns!"  Steven shouted from his steed.  The men repeated his command and began to slow the chariots minutely but gave the general the time he needed to vanquish two of the riders.

Samuel finished off the chariot on the right as several men ganged up on the other one, who had fallen off the ride.  It was over in a matter of seconds; the Howling Commandos had won.

The blonde haired general raised his sword in triumph.

Up in the stands, Anthony consulted with Obadiah.  "Isn't the battle supposed to go the other way around?"

"Yes, sire."

After a beat, the emperor stood and looked down into the Colosseum where the gladiator was still rounding around the arena, reveling in his victory.

"Who is he?"

"Fury simply calls him "the Captain", sire."

"I would very much like to meet him."  His very best inventions had been put to shame by this man.  The least he could do was know his name so he could curse it on especially slow days.

Obadiah nodded, calling a guard over to make it happen. 

Back on ground level, Steven and the others were pacing in a small circumference, chests still heaving from battle.  All of a sudden, guards poured out of every entrance the arena had.  

"Drop your weapons."

The general looked back at the men and nodded hesitantly.  The Colosseum was quiet save for the sound of their weapons hitting the ground.  

"The emperor wishes to speak with you."

Steve scoffed to himself.  The boy's pride must have been wounded.  "I am at the emperor's service."  He took a slight dip of a bow and watched as Anthony strode out from the darkness accompanied by none other than General Barnes.  He said nothing, though, so as not to give himself away.

As he bent down to kneel, he spotted an arrow jutting out slightly from the sand.  His hand drifted, unobserved, as he assumed his position. 

"Rise, rise!"  Anthony insisted with that usual air of insincerity.  When Steven saw the queen out of the corner of his eye, he let go of the shaft.  He was never one to spill blood in front of a lady.

Anthony gathered Virginia in his arms, nodding to Steven.  "Your reputation is well deserved, Captain."  Captain?  This must have been Fury's doing.  "I don't think there's ever been a gladiator to match you."

Blatant and weak flattery, Steven knew, but he couldn't help the small blush creeping up his cheeks.  He was glad for the helmet and all it did to obscure his face.

"Why don't you tell us all your name?  You do have a name, yes?"

No.  Steven could not do that.  He would be killed before he had a chance to flee.

"Please just call me Captain.  I would be honored."  With that, he turned in an attempt to leave the emperor's sight as fast as he could.

"How dare you show your back to me?   _Slave!_ You  _will_ remove your helmet and tell me your name."

It seemed that there was no way out of this.  Steven slowly lifted his helmet and took a large breath before saying,

"My name is Steven Rogers.  Rank: general.  Loyal servant to the true emperor, Howard Stark.  Father to a murdered son.  Husband to a murdered wife,"  He took another shuddering breath before continuing.  "And I will have my vengeance.  In this life or the next."

The arena was in uproar, dozens more guards filing out to hem in the gladiators.  Anthony simply stood there, dumbstruck. The general cast his eyes down, knowing full well the price for revealing himself.  

But he wasn't struck down.  In fact, no one laid a finger on him.  Steven was suddenly aware of the raucous noises of protest among the crowd, seemingly in his favor.  Anthony, ever the crowd-pleaser, gave a thumbs-up.  Barnes then called out for the soldiers to stand at ease, not quite looking Steven in the eyes.

At this, the audience went wild, and Steve put a hand to his chest and gave a terse nod to Barnes.  The small motion of gratitude did not go unnoticed, and James gave an almost imperceptible nod of his own before walking out after the emperor.  Judging by Anthony's gait, he was a bit miffed that he had to let Steven live to appease the crowd.

"Looks like you have won the crowd.  And the battle by default."  Samuel smiled at him, clasping his shoulder.  

"More than you know, Wilson."

* * *

"How is he still alive?  I gave you strict orders to either kill him or sell him off, not to make him even more popular!"

Barnes winced at his emperor's harsh vitriol, averting his gaze to the floor.  "Yes, and we thought he had been sold off for sure even after he had escaped our custody."  He would tell no one he was slightly relieved his dear friend was living, albeit in terrible circumstances.

"Well, you thought wrong.  Honestly, how is it that I'm the only competent one here?"  Anthony threw his hands up after finishing the last of his paperwork.  "Thank you, dear,"  Virginia kissed him softly on the cheek after collecting the last page.  "Does that mean I get a... 'reward' later?"  He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"We'll see."  The queen said, deadpan, as she sauntered away.  "Anyways.  You,"  Anthony pointed a ringed finger at the general,  "Will see to it his ego doesn't inflate any larger than it already has.  Forget friendship, forget camaraderie.  He's the enemy now, don't forget that."

The Caesar was still unconvinced that Barnes had renounced his ties to the former general and eyed his retreating figure warily.  When he was gone, Anthony turned to Obadiah, who was lounging next to a fountain.

"What do you think I should do?"

"Do what any great emperor would do, Anthony,"  He said, a sinister grin spreading over his wrinkled skin.  "Do what you want."

"Sounds about right.  Thank you, Obadiah.  I knew I could count on you."  He gave the older man a tight squeeze and quickly walked in the direction of his suite.  Tomorrow, he would give Steven Rogers a foe even he would not be capable of defeating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dayum, if that ain't forshadowing, I don't know what is. Anyways, I hope you guys have enjoyed reading and I'll do my best to put another chapter out as soon as I can. Please point out any mistakes you may have noticed in the comments if you feel the burning need to do so. Et maintenant le voyage a la supermarche! Au revoir.


End file.
